Fractured Fairytale: A Beautiful Disaster
by shannygoat
Summary: Randy Orton's biggest fan will stop at nothing...absolutely nothing to get him. Once she gets him nothing will tear them apart. A dark tale of love and obsession. Rated M for sex, language, stalking, and graphic violence.
1. Train Wreck

It had taken forever to get the subwoofer out of the Dodge Charger's trunk without damaging the cords. It was done with such skill and precision, it would appear that a surgeon had removed it. The key was to take the speaker out, remove the cords, and then hook the stereo back up to the factory installed radio speakers without the driver being aware of it. It had taken more time than before, but it was well worth it. That wasn't the hard part, though. The hard part was hooking the iPod up to the subwoofer without the benefit of a stereo. It had been a painstakingly slow process. One wrong splice of the cord, and the iPod would short out. But tenacity always pays off. The end result was raggedy looking with the cords kept in place with electrical tape, the iPod balanced on its side, held in place between two books, with a huge metal subwoofer vibrating next to it. It was ugly, but it worked.

The volume on the iPod was cranked up to highest level. It was so loud that the walls vibrated with each kick of the bass drum. There was no reason to ever use a subwoofer in a room this size, but the song demanded it. In fact, all good music always demanded it; this song in particular. It had been playing on repeat for the past hour. One song. One constant beat. One melody, and one voice screeching over that amazing guitar riff. Listening to it on anything lower than the max was the true definition of insanity.

Apparently, the people staying in the room next door disagreed because they had already done everything to get her to turn it down. They had yelled, banged on the walls, kicked on the door, they even called the manager. It didn't matter. The fucking neighbors could have called the National Guard, and the volume still wouldn't change. This song wasn't "noise". It was destined to be classic, in this room, if nowhere else. If it could have been turned up more, it would have been.

These fucking asshole neighbors. Apparently, they were the only ones that didn't understand how these places worked. No rules – that was the beauty of places like this. That's why this particular room was so choice. It was on the second floor, around the back facing the alley instead of the highway. There was nothing else on this side of the building except the five rooms on this level, garbage dumpsters, the overpass, and a pealing billboard. What in the hell were they expecting? If one picked a shit motel, with a shit room with no view, why would they think it would be quiet?

Anyone could stay in a two or three star hotel. But, a bed-bug infested No Tell-Motel? People stayed here because they wanted to get away with whatever dirt they were trying to do. That's why these places charged by the hour and not by the night. Most people wouldn't even want to stay for the entire night. Dirt didn't really take that much time to commit. For the most part, the only people who stayed in places like this only needed the space for about 20 minutes…a few hours if they had a lot of stamina. It was don't ask, don't tell…don't listen, don't knock. These assholes should know that.

Besides the annoying ass neighbors, the room was comfortable. There was a thick smell of stale cigarette smoke that clung to the air; it was almost reminiscent of home. The constant smoky air coupled with the music made it feel like a rock video. There was one problem with the room, though. It was hotter than a crack whore's crotch in there. The air-conditioning unit in the sole window did little more than blow the smoke rings further around the room. It provided a nice buzzing sound that served as background noise that served as reverb for the music. There was also a burning smell that came from the window-unit being cranked up to full blast. It had been a little hard to get used to, at first, but two packs of cigarettes later, it was no longer noticeable.

The roaches sure didn't seem to appreciate the extra heat in the room. They constantly ran in and out of the vents of the air-conditioner like they were trying to find a cooler climate. Or maybe they were just hungry. The box of half eaten pizza on the night table not only provided a nice temporary home, but also a hardy meal. They gathered there, grabbing their lunchtime snacks before running off to other wall cracks to share in a meal with their friends and family.

Most people would have found the place a disgusting, germ infested, death trap. But, Torren wasn't most people. In fact, she didn't seem to notice anything in particular about her living conditions. She had other things to focus on. She had already paid for this week, and next, so what did she care? The place had all of the essentials; electricity, toilet, running water, a bed, and a TV. Granted, the electricity was spotty, to the point that she couldn't have her curling iron and blow drier plugged in at the same time. The toilet was so soiled that it still hadn't been determined if there were rust stains in it, or if it just had never been cleaned…ever. The water ran brown when it rained outside, and a cloudy gray the rest of time. It didn't get hot either, it got tepid if she let it run for 10 minutes, but not hot. Not hot enough to sanitize your hands, or to take a bath in. But, it was already hot in the room, so a cold shower wasn't so bad. Besides, the tub was indescribable. If someone told her that a family of six had been murdered, and dismembered in that tub, she wouldn't be surprised. It just had that horror movie slaughter look, and the stains to prove it. The bed was hard and lumpy and judging from the DNA left behind from past guests and holes in the sheets, they probably hadn't ever been changed. The TV was small, but at least it was in color. Hell, the room even came with its own pets, and it was only $50 for the week! There truly wasn't anything to complain about.

Torren Sykes sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed, surrounded by magazines. She rocked her neck and shoulders in a slow sway to the beat of the song playing. She haphazardly flipped through the pages, until she found a suitable picture. She ripped the page from the book, roughly, before picking up the scissors. She licked her lips slowly and ferried her brow, as she started the task of cutting it out. "God dammit!" She yelled before slamming the page down on the bed. Stomping angrily toward the door, she pulled it open and narrowed her eyes at the man standing there. "I swear, if you knock on this door again, I'm gonna slit your fucking throat!" She yelled, pointing the shears at the man's neck.

The motel manager was taken by surprised at the half naked woman holding shears to his neck. Standing before him was a beautiful brunette, with dark features. She had large, but perfect almond shaped eyes, and a heart shaped face. The soft dimple in her chin, and the one just at the curve of her mouth, gave her an almost angelic look. She was considerably shorter than him, about 5'5", and well built. She wouldn't have been considered thin; she was far too curvy for that. He had thick thighs, a round ass, pronounced hips, small waist, flat stomach and big breasts. Not too big, where one would sprain their thumb trying to hold them, but they were big enough to keep any man occupied.

She was wearing the smallest pair of underwear he'd ever seen. And what was the purpose of wearing a cut off top that stopped just under the nipples? He could clearly see the curve of the lower half of her breasts because the shirt failed to cover the lower half of her chest. She glistened with a fine sheen of sweat all over her body; her long hair clung to her cheeks and neck, with it. It was almost like her hair was beating as quickly as her pulse was. If she hadn't been assaulting him with a deadly weapon, it would have been a sexy Letters to Penthouse scene.

He could feel the rush of heat come out of the room, as soon as she opened the door. It was like she had just opened to door to an oven. She was hot, and sweaty, yet she still wore long tube socks that came up to her knees.

He had been so taken by surprised, that he couldn't think of anything to say to her. Instead he took a step back, and watched as she slammed the door. The entire encounter took about 5 seconds. Long enough for her to open the door, threaten him, and slam it again in his face. He wasn't sure what he was more surprised by how she answered the door almost naked, how hot her room was, how loud the music was, the anger in her voice, or the scissors that had been pointed just inches below his throat. The whole scene was just wrong and it scared him.

In the 20 seconds that he continued to stand in front of the closed room door, he thought about what scared him the most. It was the look in her eyes. Those beautiful almond shaped eyes were intense. They were concentrated. They had absently stared right through him. Something about those eyes weren't right. Had she even seen him? He would never admit it, but he hoped like hell that she hadn't. He hoped that she didn't remember what he looked like. He didn't want any trouble, and he could tell that she definitely was.

Stomping her way back to her bed Torren resumed her aforementioned position, picked up the magazine page, and started to sway to the music again. She smiled a little taking a second to run her fingers over the image on the page before she resumed cutting. Scraps of paper fell to the bed and the floor, some even stuck to her sweaty legs.

She clutched the cut-out to her chest, before falling back on the bed. Settling on her back, she held the picture up to the light. With tenderness, she brought the piece of paper down to her lips. She kissed it...him, with such passion, before sticking her tongue out of her mouth, and letting it rest on the waxy page - where his lips were. Planting her feet on the bed, she lifted her waist from the mattress, and started to thrust upward with the beat of the song.

Seductively, she flipped over on all fours, laying the picture down on the pillows. She whipped her hair around her head, before letting it hang over her shoulder. She scooped her neck down and began kissing the picture again. As she did, she started to grind her hips hard against the balled up blankets.

She let one hand travel down her torso, toward her panties, and smirked at the picture as she did. She braced herself on her left knee and elbow, before lifting her right leg out, then up. Roughly, she took her fingers and plunged them deep inside of herself. She bit her bottom lip, hard; she could taste the coppery blood on her tongue, and when she leaned down to kiss the picture again, she managed to get a nice bloody lip print on it. She twirled her hips, and moaned loudly as she pleasured herself. Her eyes never left the picture. She removed her fingers, only to trace the dampness on the image before placing them her mouth. Her taste was incredible. It always turned her on.

She had to have him. She needed him. She flipped over on the bed and grabbed another magazine from the stack. She found one with him on the cover. Ripping the cover off with urgency, she took the waxy pages down her body, before stuffing the picture along with her hand inside her panties. She closed her eyes. She felt his tongue running over her; she felt his fingers inside of her. The pillow covered in a t-shirt with his image on it, was now on top of her to simulate his body on hers, as her hand and the magazine continued to work.

She couldn't get enough of him. She would never get enough of him.

In the middle of a mind blowing orgasm, that happened to coincide with the best guitar solo every created, blasting on the stereo, she managed to yell one word, "ORTON!" Then she flopped back on the bed in hysterical laughter.

She unballed the magazine cover, and picked up her bloody cut-out from the bed. Wordlessly, she stuck them to the wall; amongst the 50 other cut outs of him that hung just over her headboard. After giving him another kiss, she finally turned down the volume on her stereo, picked up a piece of pizza from the box, shook it off, then headed in the bathroom for a cold shower.


	2. Trifecta

In her twenty-one years of life Torren Sykes had learned many things: few things were ever permanent; food always tastes better with some sort of sauce on it; shorts could never be too short; you don't need a job as long as there are men around that want to fuck you; if you want something that is unattainable, take it – the Constitution said so with that whole pursuit of happiness stuff; and you had to be persistent if you wanted the big payoff.

The push and pull of the forces of nature made life interesting. It was cool not knowing what the day would bring, or how she would have to adapt to a particular situation. What worked today had the potential of not working tomorrow. Darwin's theory of survival of the fittest kept her on her toes and gave her something to look forward to.

But, no matter how unpredictable the rest of world seemed, there were 3 things that remained a constant in her life:

The first, her mother had always been and would forever be, the biggest bitch that ever lived. Torren's relationship with her mother, Leslie, had been doomed from the start. For what every reason Torren lived with her grandmother, Donna, until she died when Torren was six. Leslie would come to see her and drop off a present on holidays and birthdays, mostly. She would usually bring some sort of cheap ass, unwrapped present that she got from the Dollar Store. Torren couldn't remember a gift that she had received from that bitch that wasn't still in the plastic bag with the receipt in it. Cheap, whore.

Just once she wanted to have actually received a real baby doll from Toys-R-Us, instead of those cheap, hard, plastic dolls that the hand molds weren't cutout evenly, so they had jagged edges that cut the shit out of her face when she tried to sleep with it. But, that was Leslie. Torren didn't choose her; Leslie sure as shit didn't choose her daughter.

It was just one of those fickle life things. After the death of her grandmother, Torren was forced to live with her mother. Not like either of them wanted it. But, she had to adapt or go crazy dealing with that bitch.

By the age of seven, Torren had realized that her mother didn't talk much; at least not to her. She sure as hell yelled a lot, though. In fact, her mother had two modes of communicating, yelling, or cursing like a sailor. In fact, Torren thought that her nickname was Dumbass, for the longest kind of time. Torren used to think her mother talked like that to everybody, but that wasn't so. Those two means of communication were strictly for her offspring.

By nine, Torren was convinced she was a trick baby. It was the only explanation seeing as how, to her knowledge, her mother never had a job, but always had enough money to keep the lights on, plenty of booze, chips, bologna, and hotdogs. Not that Torren had many other life experiences with a working parent to compare to, but to her it seemed pretty difficult to have a job if you were passed out drunk or groggy from a hangover most of the time. She didn't know how the work world worked, but she was sure that a boss wouldn't like it much. Torren's mom never seemed to have time to work, or for her, for that matter. But, she sure did have plenty of time for her many, _many _"boyfriends".

Torren used to dream that one of the many men that came to her house were her father. But, knowing how much of a bitch her mother was, she quickly realized that that dude had gotten the hell out of dodge a long time ago. He wasn't coming back. Lucky son-of-a bitch.

It didn't take long before Torren stopped bothering to learn the boyfriends' names. They were never around long enough to put forth that much effort. Besides, it seemed like her mother preferred to do most of her "dating" outside of the house anyway. On the rare occasion when her mother was actually home, she was either getting drunk getting ready for a date, or just coming in hung over at the ass-crack of dawn from one. It wasn't like they were that many hours in the day for all that talking or working bullshit.

Leslie definitely wasn't going to win any mother of the year awards from her kid. Torren's mom didn't want her around, and Torren didn't want to be around. The best thing Torren ever did was leave home at 15. The last words she spoke to her behated mother were, "Go fuck yourself," before she stepped through the door, slamming it behind her. Torren left that day and never looked back.

The second thing that life taught her was there is no such thing as too much black eyeliner. As trivial as it sounded, it proved to be a very valuable lesson. It was probably the only piece of advice that her bitch of a mother had ever given her. Shortly after she had come to live with her mother, Leslie had forced her to sit on the bed and watch as she was getting ready for another one of her "dates". She had told the little girl that beautiful eyes were the one good gene that her family had. She told her to learn how to work them. "You can get a man to do anything you want if you use your eyes. You listenin'? This's important."

Of course Torren had no idea what in the fuck she meant by that statement. She still had no idea how eyeliner was going to make men do anything, but her mom did it, so Torren did it, too. She had picked up the black liner pencil from her mother's cluttered vanity table and leaned over it to look in the mirror. She tried tracing her bottom lid, the way her mother had done, but at six it was a little easier said than done. She had just learned how to color inside the lines with a fat crayon; mastering the art of applying liner with a thin pencil would have to wait a few more years. Her mother, however, believed that her daughter should have been a natural at it. "What the hell's amatta wit'chu? You doin' it wrong," she said snatching the pencil from the girl's hand. She had grabbed Torren roughly by the chin, "Dumbass….gotta teach you every God damn thing. Hold still." She mumbled more curses and said something about her good-for-nothing mother not teaching her brat anything useful in all of the years she had her.

By the time she had finished cursing under her breath, she forcibly turned her daughter's head toward the mirror, "Those eyes…yeah you got 'em. You'll eat them alive. Learn how to work 'em…" Her mother didn't say anything else. Instead, she dropped the pencil onto the vanity, and picked up her class of vodka before shooing Torren away.

Leslie had been right. That day when she went out to play while her mother was gone, little Drew Watkins bought her an ice-cream from the truck. It had to be the eyeliner. It had become a fact, not just another one of her mother's drunken theories. From that day forward men had always been drawn to her eyes. Or maybe it was her boobs? Possibly her ass? Whatever it was that attracted them to her. She wasn't going to risk jinxing it. She opted to never leave the house without wearing heavy black eyeliner again.

The third and most important lesson that life had taught her was that she would always be in love with Randall Keith Orton. Since she was 10 years old, and saw him on wrestling she knew that she had to have him. He was everything to her. He was sexy, strong, powerful, cocky, smart…he had a charming smile and tan skin that made her want to test if it was natural or a spray tan, with her tongue. He was also, the only other person in this world that loved her, too. Only, he had forgotten how much. All she had to do was get him to see her again and she knew that he was going to be hers again, forever.

Eleven years later her devotion to him hadn't changed. If anything it made it stronger. Even after he changed from heel to face and back again, she loved him. She loved him through every suspension, every time he fucked up and they punished him by giving him shitty matches, and ripped him in the press. She owned every Pay-Per-View he had ever been in. She had over 1,000 magazines with his pictures in them. She had his action figures, t-shirts, bobble-heads, hard ass pillow people... She even got his original back tribal back tat as a tramp stamp. And she was going to fuck John Cena up for saying all that shit about him needing to get fired for failing a piss test. Who hadn't failed a piss test before? How dare he talk about her Randy like that? She was Randy's and he was hers. She would love him forever, no matter what.

Admittedly, she was hurt when she found out that he had gotten married. But, she knew, realistically, that at the time she was too young for him, and that he could get arrested for being with her. She knew that he had to pretend to have a normal life, so that no one would know about their love affair. She was just understanding like that. It gave her time to grow up a little more, so that when they could be together, the law wouldn't be standing in their way. She really didn't give a fuck, but she suspected he did. Why else hadn't he come for her?

She hated that he had gotten that whore pregnant, too. She understood that he had to pretend that they had a normal marriage. She knew that when he was fucking that bitch, he was really imagining it was her. The years apart had made him a master at hiding his true feelings for her. He couldn't give anyone cause for suspicion. If he let on the truth he could risk losing everything…his house, cars, job, and his kid. That whore was trying to keep them apart. But, she was just a small obstacle that posed no real threat to Torren.

She had no doubt that she would be his daughter's new mommy. The kid would probably be sad at first that she wouldn't be with that other woman, like Torren had been when her grandmother died. But, the kid would get used to it. Torren was going to be a whole hell of a lot better at being a mom than her piece of shit mother was to her. That was for damn sure. She was going to teach her stepdaughter all about eyeliner, and how to dye her hair. She was going to teach her what party clothes every woman should have in her wardrobe and how to get a man to do whatever she wanted by just batting her eyes at him. She would even share her secrets on what pills to mix and what dosages to give for submission, making a man catatonic, and if she was really good, she'd teacher what to put in a drink to kill someone. Hell, she even planned on giving the child her most discrete drug contacts. That of course would have to wait until she was older – at least 13. She was going to be such a good mommy. Randy's daughter was going to love Torren as much as Torren loved him. They were going to be the perfect family.

Torren was as hopelessly devoted to Orton as he was to her. He had waited for her to become legal. Just months before she was old enough to legally consent to sex, _and _get married without parental permission, his marriage started falling apart. She knew that Randy was trying to make a clean break from his wife, and get his daughter used to the idea of them being apart before he could come home. Torren had been thoughtful and respectful enough to give him that space to make sure everything was right before she stepped into the role of the new Mrs. Orton. He had to test the waters, make sure that she still wanted him as much as he wanted her. He had to get back into the swing of things…have sex constantly to make sure he could keep up with her. She knew that "the prude" wasn't doing it nearly as often as Randy needed to. Torren was the only one that could feed his appetite, and he hers.

Randy had started taking steroids again, no doubt to be in tip-top shape for her. Not only did he want to increase his strength, but he wanted to make sure that he looked his best for her, too. Randy was so silly if he thought he _had _to buff up for her. Torren loved him when his face was fat after his first steroid suspension. She loved him before he got all lean. She loved him before he started getting all of those tattoos. She loved him even more when she had blown up a picture of his arm sleeve and she could make out the letters of her name amongst the artwork. Everything he had done and was doing was such a grand gesture that she wasn't quite sure how to repay him for it. She respected him for it. She loved him for it.

Now, they were both finally ready. She was mature, and developed. She knew what she needed, and it was him. He had his life, and his career was getting back on track. He had a great relationship with his daughter. His marriage was a shame. He was having affair, after affair, trying to shake that shade tree, but the prude was too stupid to get the hint. He was leaving it up to Torren to get that whore to understand that they were over.

She had waited, albeit impatiently, for a sign from him that everything was ready and waiting for her. She had almost given up hope. She had become preoccupied, for only a second, with DJ Ashba from Sixx A.M., when one day she looked up at the television screen and there he was. Her Randy was standing there in the tunnel ready to go out into the ring for Raw. He had come back for her. His suspension had been lifted and he made his television reentrance. Torren decided to end the thing with DJ because there was no future for them. She belonged with Randy; no questions asked.

His face told her everything that her heart already knew. He loved her. Why else would be looking at her like that? She could feel herself blush when he smirked at her, while standing on the ropes with his arms out waiting for her to run into them. Then he gave her that smile. That was _her_ smile; the one that he reserved for her during their private times. Yet, there he was doing it in front of an audience of millions, and he didn't care who saw it. He had to let her know that it was time for her to come home. It was like a sleeper cell being awakened.

She didn't have a choice. She did what any other woman in her position would do. She packed a bag, threw it in the car she stole a few days before, and drove. Armed with her trifecta of knowledge and determination, she prepared to face the obstacles that were bound to get in her way. There was nothing that was going to stop her from getting her man.

Nothing.

* * *

_A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews. It's great to hear from people who I haven't heard from in years. Glad the universe is still treating you kindly. __I'm still writing this one. Actually, I have a few chapters done already. I need to edit, add/delete, but I'll be updating soon. Your reviews give me new ideas and help me decide to add where. I love that they challenge me to answer your question, and create more. Keeps me on my toes. Man, I missed writing! _

_And deConstruction – I know what you mean about the excitement. I totally fan-girled out when I saw you updating, too!_

_Be easy!_

_Shanny_


	3. Date with Destiny

Finding Randy Orton should have been easy. Between the two of them, he was the stable one. He had an iron clad traveling schedule, unlike Torren, who went where the wind, or whatever car she acquired, took her. Randy had definitive signing times and appearances. The only thing that Torren _had _to do was look for (stalk) Randy. It had taken months to figure out the password to his personal email account, but once she had it, it was like having an Orton GPS. Plus, it was nice to know that he used the same password on all of his accounts. If there was anything in the world that she needed to know about him all she had to do was log onto a computer.

She had double checked his schedule to see what time he was due at the arena, from the library, several blocks away from her motel room. She had been thinking about stealing a laptop or one of those fancy iPads. She was still on the fence about the idea, though. She didn't like the fact that all of her personal business could be on the World Wide Web. The last thing she needed was someone even crazier than she being able to access her information. But, it would make it easier to keep tabs on her man. Having to go to the library and threaten little kids to get off the fucking computers, so she could hack his accounts, wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

Besides, she was usually rushed at the library. It usually only took a few minutes before one of those little bastard kids would get the library Nazis to kick her off the computer, or bar her from the library all together. Usually, she didn't mind, but these small towns usually only had one library within their county limits. If she got banned how was she supposed to check up on Randy? In the time it took to log in until she got kicked out, she'd be lucky if she could check 2 of his accounts. What if he had some important information in another account that she hadn't checked, yet? What was she supposed to do then?

Her relationship with Randy was hanging in the balance, and she'd be damned if some snot-nosed kid, or fucking uptight librarian would fuck that up. She needed a computer. But, on the flip side, when she finally got her man back, she wouldn't have a need for one, anymore. She could ask him directly what the plan was for the day.

There was a lot to consider and that took time; time that she didn't have right now.

The sun had already started to set, even though Torren couldn't tell by how hot it still was. Looking at the clock, she noticed it was 7:30pm. Randy wasn't due to be on camera until 9:10, which probably meant that he should be getting to the arena around 8. When they got back together, she was going to make sure he was a little more punctual with his work schedule. He had a knack for being late for things. Being late bothered her. It allowed too many variables to get in the way if she was too busy worrying about the time, instead of the important details.

If she timed this right she could get to the venue just as he did. Of course, seeing her would totally fuck him up in the head, leaving him unable to do promos or wrestle. He wouldn't be able to concentrate because he would only be thinking about her. That's what she wanted, but not for him to get hurt because he couldn't get her off his mind. Being as considerate as she was, she decided to wait until after he finished work to surprise him and live out their happily ever after.

Torren walked around her motel room naked, waiting for the thick layer of Nair shaving cream she had applied to her already hairless crotch, to work. She knew Randy hated body hair; why else would he always be so clean shaven? While she waited to feel the familiar burning sensation, indicating that it was time for the cream to be removed from the sensitive skin of her vulva, she carefully laid out her outfit for the evening.

She knew that Randy well enough know that would want her to be sexy for him, but not so much to distract him from work. She could have gone for something slutty, like those skanky bitches that he worked with. She could have gone for more demur, but then she would remind him too much of his bitch wife and completely turn him off. The last thing she wanted on their first night back together was for him to be thinking about that bitch. She could have gone for a simple pair of jeans and a t-shirt, but she Torren never did simple. It just wasn't in her DNA. No, Randy would want her to be her. That's what he loved about her. That's what attracted him to her in the first place. She would be sexy without being skanky; she would be demure without being a prude.

After going through every item in her bag, twice, she decided on an outfit that would match his. She had found out that he was supposed to wear red and black tonight. She wanted to wear a matching outfit, like real couples do. She settled on black leather chaps that tied up on the sides, and tight red boy shorts, that left the bottom half of her ass cheeks exposed. She knew he'd appreciate that touch. Her top was a red bandana that she wore as a halter top with a short black leather jacket with tassels on the sleeves. She had taken the time Bedazzle Orton's art work on the ass of the shorts and his name on the bandana, first thing that morning. He was going to love the extra touch and how she managed to balance the ensemble. It wasn't so over the top that he would be upset that everyone else was checking her out, but not so modest that his attention could be diverted by one of those sluts backstage. He loved her since of style.

Torren turned on the hot water in the shower. Not that the water got hot; it was more out of habit. She didn't mind. She was glad that the cold water gave her a break from the heat in her room. She sat on the dirty floor of the bath tub to shave her toes, just blow each knuckle. She shaved each leg three times, from her foot to her waist. When the burning feeling started to give her goose bumps all over her body, she quickly washed the cream off of her. The last time she had let it stay on, just past burning, the skin broke and she started bleeding. She was not having a bloody hoo-ha tonight. With that taken care of, she gently used the razor to remove any other pubics hair, closer to the labia minora that needed to be removed. She then shaved her backside. When she had more time, she was going to get the internal hairs bleached, since shaving them was dangerous. But, that would have to wait until later. She took a few minutes to shave her pits, followed by her arms.

If only she had someone to shave her back. She was sure she didn't have noticeable back hairs, but everybody has hair all over their body. Torren didn't want _any_. She washed with the bottle of Dove Body Wash that she had stuck in her bag while at the pharmacy a few days ago. She loved the smell. Shea butter and something else warm. It was going to drive Randy crazy.

Hair and body washed, completely shaven, cool and ready to go, Torren finished her shower, and walked out of the bathroom dripping wet, only using a towel to wrap around her hair. She made her way to her makeshift stereo and cranked up the music. Tonight, she needed a theme song in order to get her in the mood for what was sure to be a night to remember.

She was glad it was so hot in her room that her hair would air-dry quickly. She finger combed her wavy damp tresses hair to complete that just got out of bed, but it's really styled appearance. She knew how much he loved when her hair looked like that. It reminded him of the way she looked after they finished fucking. It had that just spent appearance, even though everything else about her looked fresh and ready for action. Randy wouldn't be able to resist her.

She spent extra time to apply her makeup, even using an extra dark, thick application of eye liner. She usually went for more subtle warm colors. They matched her tan skin tone better. She didn't know what her ethnicity was. She was sure her drunk-ass whore mother didn't, either. She doubted her mother knew anything about her side of the family, and she was willing to bet everything she owned that that bitch didn't have the foggiest idea _who _Torren's father was, let alone what his ethnicity was. She wasn't sure, but she figured it was some kind of Western European or Mediterranean because she was naturally dark, and tanned beautifully. But, tonight, she had bold, dark makeup, complete with varying shades of red eye shadow, and a dark red lip gloss.

Completely satisfied with how she looked, Torren locked the door to her motel room, and started down the hall. She deliberately stopped by the window and peered through the partially opened blinds of the people staying next door to her. She knocked on the window to get the attention of the young couple inside. Judging from their appearance, they were too strung out to know who she was, or that it was her music that they constantly banged on the wall about. It didn't matter, though, because she still flipped them off, and then switched down the walkway toward the stairs, just the same.

She reached her hand through the busted out window of the blue Ford Taurus to unlock the door from the inside. Torren slid into the driver's seat and leaned over find the two cords that she had pulled out from under the steering wheel when she stole the car. Flicking the cords together, she listened as the engine reluctantly turned over.

She put the car in reverse, looked in the rearview mirror at her makeup, then pulled out of the spot. As she turned onto to the road leading to the highway, she listened to the knocks, bumps, and hisses that her car made. There wasn't time to do much about it now; not when she was on her way to get her man. But, she made a mental note to do something about it later in the week. The only thing she could do was turn the music up louder to drown out the car noise.

Truthfully, she should have stolen a better car than the piece of shit Taurus that she _found _in the parking lot of the Quickie Mart while driving through Tulsa, Oklahoma. There had plenty of better cars there to choose from. But, no one would have wanted to take this one. It was so sad looking that she took pity on it. She had been doing the owner of this fucked up car a favor, by taking it off of their hands. The car was truly fucked. The oil light stayed on, and it drank gas like her mother drank liquor. The car had protested every inch of the ride across the three states that she traveled through in one day. She knew that it would only be a matter of time before piece of shit breathed its last breath.

She needed to get gas again, but fuck that car. She had already refueled three times since she stole it. Gas wasn't cheap and she wasn't putting another dime in that gas guzzling car. Speaking of money, she made a mental note to steal another credit card. It would only be a matter of time before the owner of the one that was tucked snuggly between her left breast and strapless bra, would eventually realize that it had been lifted from the table in the diner, and cancelled.

Laptop, butt bleaching, car, credit card, and more eyeliner from the Walgreen's…her To Do list was growing. She really needed to take some time off and take care of the necessities. Not tonight, though. She had other things to do. She couldn't do anything else, right now, but get to her man. Besides, once Orton was by her side, he would help her remember all the things she needed to do.

As she came off of the highway exit smoke started billowing out from the engine. It backed up through the exhaust system, and came through the vents, inside the cabin. It was ironic – the air-conditioning vents in the car didn't work, but they seemed to work well enough to clog the inside of the car up with thick white smoke. She drove a few more miles before the smoke was so thick that she could no longer see. As she pulled the car over to the graveled shoulder of the road, the car knocked and shook, before it finally cut off.

Just her fucking luck.

She reached under the dash to flick the cords against each other again, trying to force the ignition to catch again, but it wouldn't. The engine had nothing left to give her. "Fuck Murphy and fuck his fucking law," she said calmly as she pulled the hood release.

She opened the car door, taking care to place both black 4" high heeled boots on ground before lifting her backside from the seat. Placing her sunglasses on her eyes, she walked with one foot in front of the other to the front of the Taurus and placed her hand on the hood. It was hot, but not so hot that she couldn't feel under the front of it lever.

As she lifted the heavy metal hood and placed the rod the slot to hold it in place, Torren let the smoke from the engine engulf her. It was quite a head rush breathing in the thick engine smoke through her nose, and exhaling it from her mouth. She patiently waited for the smoke to thin out before she bent, at the waist, over the engine. She didn't know what she was looking for, but she knew that someone would see her looking over the engine and stop to help her.

Now, if only someone would actually come down this dark stretch of road, she could be back on her way to Randy.

It didn't take long before a she saw headlights rounding the bend of the road, just off to her right. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, accentuating the tight leather against her hips and lifted her ass higher in the air, to catch the driver's attention. She couldn't help but to smirk when she heard the tires of a large vehicle turn onto the graveled pavement in front of where she broke down. She didn't turn to face the car, or the driver. She didn't care who they were or what they looked like. She had an appointment to keep and this pit stop was fucking up her time table.

"You need some help?" A deep voice asked as its owner approached her.

Torren took a moment to peer around the hood, noticing that were no other cars around. "Broke down," she answered, continuing to bear her weight from one hip to the other. She placed her hands on the metal frame of the car, arched her back, and looked at the man over her shoulder. "You know something about cars?"

"Yeah," he replied, moving around to her side, looking at her, and not the smoky engine.

She gave him half a smile, as she noticed him notice her. "You a mechanic or something?" She asked standing up. She rubbed her hands together to remove some of the visible engine soot, while considering the guy in front of her. He was about 6 feet tall with a moderate build. He was dressed in blue jeans, black t-shirt and Timberland boots. He didn't look like he was more than 25 years old. Judging from the way he was looking at her and from the ring on his left hand, he wasn't too worried about her car, or his wife, for that matter.

"Nah, not a mechanic, but I work on my own car in my spare time." He smiled when she did. She was gorgeous, in that slutty kind of way. She wouldn't be dressed like and leaning over the hood of a car if she wasn't looking to have some fun. "Lemme take a look at it."

He worked on his own car? Hopefully that meant that his ran better than hers did.

Torren moved over to the side and let him take the position under the hood. "I'll be right back," he explained before walking over to bed of his F150. Grabbing a flashlight from the trunk, he took a second to admire the view of her, from behind. If he could get her car moving again, she would hopefully follow him to this cheap motel he knew that was just up the highway.

He leaned over her, and took a second to smell her hair. Damn, she smelled good. "You overheated…want to check the coolant level."

She had heard him say something else but, she had stopped listening; she was too busy watching the street. "You want me to try to start it?" she asked removing her sunglasses, before making her way to the driver's door. She wasn't sure if he answered or not. She had no intention of driving the Taurus again, even if he could get it started. She just needed to get something out of the car.

She slid into the seat, and reached down on the floor. She found the hard metal object on the floor of the passenger's side, and gripped it tightly. As she walked back around to the front of the car, she heard him still talking, presumably about the car, or maybe he was asking her out. Who the fuck knows? She was on a tight time schedule and all of his chatting was holding her up. She stood by the side of the hood, looking at the angle in which he was leaned over the hood. Quickly, she lifted her arm and with one powerful blow, she struck him in the head with the crowbar that she used to procure her now defunct car.

Torren stood over his body, looking at him intensely. God, it felt good. The rush of knowing that one minute this dude was towering over her, and the next he was on the ground. She had dropped his ass. She was the one with the power. "Thanks," she said digging her hand in his pocket to retrieve his cash, credit card and the keys to his truck. She wiped the blood on the crowbar on his shirt before walking to her new mode of transportation.

Torren sat in the truck's driver's seat, and turned on the engine. She had managed to cross one thing off of her To Do list without even planning to.

Thank God the truck had air conditioning. All this heat and humidity was bound to make her hair frizzy. She cranked the AC up as high as it would go and sat still for a moment enjoying the cool air. After a minute, she adjusted the seat, and tilted the rearview mirror to look at herself. She was starting to sweat and her eyeliner was starting to run just a bit at the corners of her eyes. She dabbed at the black liner to even out the lines, and then pushed the mirror back to where she could see. Giving the area another once-over, she made sure that no one else had seen her interaction with that guy on the ground, before pulling out from the gravel and onto the paved street.

"Ugh!" Torren yelled in the cab of the truck. Chester Bradley, the name on credit card, had shitty taste in music. She pushed the stereo button on the steering wheel to do a scan of the radio. Anything was better than country music. Once she found the local rock station, she turned up the volume and started dancing in her seat, as she drove down the road.

She was cutting it close. It was already 8:30. She needed to pick up the pace if she was going to see his ring entrance. But, traffic was not cooperating with her. It seemed like every dumb fuck in the area was on the road.

The speed limit was 40, and this fucker in front of her was doing 35. She switched to the right lane and rolled down her window. "Get the fuck outta my way!" she yelled as she passed a car driving in the left lane. Why were people trying to get in the way of her destiny? If she had time, she would have followed this asshole, and when they stopped she would have gotten out of the truck and approached the car. She wasn't sure what would transpire after that, but the thought gave her an excited flutter in her stomach. "Orton just saved your life!" she yelled, holding her arm out of the window and making a gun gesture with her fingers as she passed.

It took another 15 minutes for her to get the arena's parking lot. Of course the fucking lot was full. "Dammit." She was forced to park five blocks away. Between the heat and the heel on her boots, walking wasn't what she wanted to do. Her hair was going to frizz. She was going to start sweating, and her makeup would start to run. The balls of her feet were going to be sore, and if she broke a heel on the broken concrete of the sidewalk, someone was going to catch it, tonight.

She tried her best to control her breathing and remain calm as she walked. She couldn't afford to be all excited and pissed off when she saw Randy. It would totally fuck up the wonderful reunion she had planned. Instead, she decided to think about what she going to say to him when she saw him. Was she going to proclaim her love to him, and tell him that she was ready? Was she going to simply stand with her back against the wall and look at him with large puppy dog eyes, telling him silently that she had come for him? Was she going to run to him and jump in his arms? There were so many possibilities.

As she reached the arena walkway, she decided to be natural. Whatever she was feeling at the time that their eyes met was how she was going to great him. It's what he would expect. They had never been phony before, and she wasn't about to start the second chapter of their lives phony now.

* * *

_A/N: Anyone intersted in doing a graphic for this story, should inbox me. I have some ideas of who I want to use. __As always, thanks for the love!_


	4. Determination

By the time Torren had actually reached the doors to the arena, it was a little after 9pm. The show had already started and surely Randy Orton was already inside. This was not the way things were supposed to work out tonight. She was supposed to see him _before _he went inside. He was supposed to be getting out of his rental, or limo or whatever the hell way he was traveling in these days, and set his eyes on her. He was supposed to drop his gym bag and stare at her with a quizzical look. He would give her a cocky smirk and then she would run into his arms. His big, strong arms would encircle her entire body as his hands could cup her ass. Her legs would wrap around his waist as her tongue slid in between his opened lips, all the while she was desperately clawing and ripping at his shirt.

Randy was supposed to be slamming her down on the hood of the car and push his face into her cleavage. She should be finding a way, under his weight, to put her calves on his shoulders, nevermidning the blood on his face from where her stiletto boot made contacted with his cheek, while trying to get in that position. And while he was licking and sucking her tits, and her hands would be madly raking at his hair. Right now she should be feeling the wetness and tasting the redness of the blood on his cheek; it would be hot and sticky, much like she was supposed to be at 9 fucking 15.

Instead of playing out what was supposed to be their destiny, things were now fucked to hell. Between the car, parking, and Randy probably showing up on time for the first time in his career, she had missed him. She was horny as fuck and her heartbeat wouldn't slowdown from anticipation of seeing him and the thought that she may have actually killed that schmuck that stopped to help her. Her senses were in overload and she needed to do something about it immediately. Now, the only thing standing in the way between her and her man, were the 15 steps to the arena door.

There were only a handful of smokers standing outside of the arena, all looking like trailer trash. Didn't they take any pride in their appearance? Didn't they know that important people like her Orton were inside? Acid washed jeans, t-shirts, and was that a mullet? What the fuck was wrong with people? Torren actually felt a little sorry for them. They didn't have the love of their life waiting for them inside; that's probably why they were outside looking like toothless wonders. They weren't about to rekindle an 11 yearlong secret love affair. They had no idea how lucky she was. The thought of how wonderful her life was about to become and how desperately fucked up theirs was, was enough to put a smile on her lips. Those poor fuckers had nothing to look forward to in life, instead of their smoke breaks. _Fuck 'em._

Torren walked quickly to the Will-Call counter, and tapped her long black nails impatiently on the Plexi-glass between her and woman behind the counter. "Yeah…I got tickets waiting," she said calmly, giving the woman a serious stare. This would have gone much easier if it had been a guy back there. She didn't have to try with a guy. But, this bitch? The look she was returning definitely suggested that Torren wouldn't be walking out with her tickets as quickly as she had hoped. The key, however, was to keep calm.

"Name?" came the impatient, distorted voice from behind the counter. Maybe this bitch was mad because she was forced to wear that ugly ass gray striped shirt. Or it could have been because she had on black Polyester pants that were already 2 sizes too small and held up by an unnecessary belt. Company mandated uniform or not, there was no excuse for her to be stuffed into that outfit; nor was it a reason for her to be looking at Torren the way she was, totally unaffected by the fact that she was in a hurry.

"Smith," she replied shrugging her shoulders. She didn't know anyone with that name, but it was common. Surely _someone_ with that name had tickets waiting. Orton had been the name that Torren used to use when trying to steal tickets to a show, until she realized that it wasn't that common. Common names worked better, not there hadn't been the rare occasion when Orton actually worked.

She watched as the woman fumbled through the box of unclaimed tickets, reading each name out loud. This was taking forever. "Think we could hurry this along," trying not to start yelling at the top of her lungs at the utter incompetence of this ticket Nazi, she squinted to read the nametag, "Debbie?"

With a roll of her eyes, Debbie replied, "I don't have no tickets for a Smith." She didn't look through the box past the letter C. She didn't need to. She had been dealing with these slutty types all night. Her co-worker, John, a wrestling buff, had told her they were called _ring-rats_. She would never understand why these little, young, white girls acted like that. Sure, some of the guys she had seen on TV, when her 15 year old watched wrestling, were attractive. But come on. These guys had pussy thrown at them all day. Why in the hell would they want these little girls dressed like crack-whores? And this one was especially slutty looking with those crazy, wild ass eyes.

"Well, Johnson, then." Torren hardened her gaze and placed her elbows on the ledge of the counter. She had been trying to remain calm for about a minute. That's all the patience she had managed to muster. She had an agenda and timeline was already thrown off. All this talking and shit was just delaying the inevitable. Torren, for one, was fed up with it. "You gotta box full of tickets there - just gimme one."

"Look," Debbie said rolling her neck, "if you want tickets, you need to go over there and buy 'em like everybody else." She pointed toward the ticket counter and rolled her eyes. The last thing she had time for was this crazy looking bitch giving her an attitude. It was already 9:15, and she was getting off in a half hour. If she could get things at her station in order in the next 15 minutes, she would still have time to reconcile her drawer and pass the rest of the unclaimed Will-Call tickets over to the customer service desk. It didn't help that she was already going to get home with dinner late no matter if she left now or in at 9:45. She was still going to get into it with her husband when she finally walked through the door. It was bad enough that he'd been calling her since 8:30, probably pissed about dinner not being there, and the fact that he wanted to go out to the bar with his friends, but he couldn't because he had to be home with the damn kids until she got there.

Why did he have to be such a dick? She was the only one in the house working. Granted, it was a shitty job with even worse pay, but it kept the lights on. Maybe if he got off his ass, stayed out of the bar, and looked for a job, they wouldn't be in this situation. He wasn't hurt from that damn car accident, he was just trying to collect an insurance payment. But, it had been over a year and his disability had run out. As soon as he got his settlement, she was leaving his ass, with half of his earnings.

With a life like hers, she was liable to zap the hell out on a customer. Dealing with this girl, looking all ratchet, like she was hopped up on Mollies, was bound to turn out unbenefit for one of them. But she couldn't go apeshit. She was already on probation because her pimply face supervisor, who was young enough to be her youngest child, claimed there had been complaints about her shitty customer service skill. If that dickhead _stupi_visor knew anything about real life he would have known that grownups have real life issues and can't be happy-go-lucky all the damn time. Plus the public sucked. _Fuck this job, and fuck her._

Debbie noticed how Torren arched her back as if she was about to start some shit. But, instead of engaging in an altercation with this crazy bitch, she put up the counter closed sign and turned her back. _Jesus just saved this little heffer's life._

It would have taken more time to fight than she had. Torren almost never backed down from a fight, but right now time was of the essence, and there was Plexi-glass between them. What good would it do to expell all her energy banging on the glass, when she needed to save it for her night with Randy?

Actually the thought of buying a ticket had never crossed Torren's mind. Still, she probably could have crafted the box office guy into letting her into the show for free, but that fucking Debbie was so loud about this shit, that she was sure he had heard them. Now she was faced with a choice – pay for a ticket, or go to Plan B.

Plan B, it was. "Bitch," Torren said as she walked out of the lobby, and back outside into the humid night air.

The show's production trucks were parked to the side of the arena, near the garage doors. More than likely this would take about 10 minutes to pull off, but at least she would be inside. From the sidewalk, she noticed that at the end of the driveway, the roller door to the arena was open and people were milling around inside. The only thing between her and that door were bike racks and the crew people… all with badges.

Casually, Torren leaned with her back against one of the WWE trailers and waited, never taking her eyes off of the roller door. It took about five minutes before a guy with a black WWE shirt, lanyard, and a headset made eye contact. She gave him a coy smile, before batting her lashes and looking shyly at the ground. _This is too fucking easy._

"Hey," he said with a smile, blowing smoke out of his mouth when he talked. "I'm Scott. I'm part of the stage crew," sticking his chest out in pride, Scott started to twirl his lanyard around his finger. This was too easy. Chicks digged the stage crew because they thought they knew the talent. Truth be told, the two classes never met, but ring rats didn't need to know that.

"Hi, Scott."

Scott considered her for a moment, before motioning his cigarette toward her. He shrugged when she shook her head and started to look around. "You waiting for somebody?"

"No. They couldn't find my tickets at Will Call. I don't have a way to get in," she said sadly, batting her large dark eyes at him. He was standing close enough to her that she could smell him. Was that Axe or Old Spice he was wearing? Whatever it was, she could tell that he got it at Wal-Mart. He must have believed the commercials that girls really liked the way that shit smelled. "What are you wearing? You smell nice." That was all it took. Two minutes later, Torren was inside the storage closet inside the delivery entrance of the area.

Torren had placed her jacket on the floor so she would have something to kneel on. This guy, Scott, was gross. He was fat. He was one of those guys who wore his pants lower than his waist so his beer gut had plenty of space to hang free. And he was old; probably 40 or something. However old he really was, it was too damn old to still be a roadie and not have a real job. And let's not talk about the fact that he was hairy and sweaty and stunk of stale cigarettes. There was nothing worse than an old fat guy that had that blue collar, Axe mixed with Camels and sweat smell.

Randy didn't smell like that, that is for damn sure.

No matter how appalling Scott was, Torren played the role. She ran her hands up his thighs and licked her lips seductively, not totally sure that he could even see her face over his big ass stomach. She carefully unbuttoned his pants and let her nails softly scratch the soft hairs on his thighs as she pulled the jeans down from his hips. Torren looked up at him with a smile.

_Poor Scott, _she thought staring at his small, flaccid, uncircumcised, pink dick. What in the fuck was she supposed to do with this? She took a deep breath and raised her brows before sticking her tongue out of her mouth to expose how she could dimple it in the middle. She held him in her hand and pointed it at her mouth. With only her tongue on the tip of the foreskin, she separated the flesh until she had touched the head. Scott flinched at the sensation.

There wasn't time for a good blowjob, not like the ones she would give Randy. Those would be slow, with a lot of biting and teasing, licking and sucking. She would rub him all over her face, and neck and down her chest. She would bury her face in his thighs. She would sniff and smell him, hum and blow on him. Randy's blowjob would be a pleasure; this one was a job.

She wasn't sure what was worse, the fact that his gut hung over his waist and she had to hold her left hand against it to actually keep is dick in sight, or the fact that he had red pubic hair that gave his balls a weird burgundy color. Sucking him off was the equivalent of sucking on a bland undercooked pork chop. It was greasy and she was sure that what she smelled was smegma. She knew that he would cum in no time. Hopefully his knees wouldn't buckle and he would fall on top of her.

She hadn't timed it, but it surely was the quickest hummer she had ever given. Judging by how giddy Scott was pulling up his pants, it was probably the only one he'd ever gotten. "So, where is back stage?" she asked standing up wiping her mouth.

Scott opened the closet door and pointed down the hall, "Through those doors." He looked behind him to make sure that the coast was clear, before letting her step in front of him. Placing his arm around her waist, he whispered in her ear. "Look, I'm gonna be done around midnight. If you wanna…"

"Thanks, Scott," Torren smiled and gave him a hug, while unhooking the backstage pass from the metal clasp on the lanyard.

As she walked down the hall, she applied more lip-gloss, turned to blow him a kiss, gripped the credential tightly, and then stepped through the door.


End file.
